Thunk. Bull's-eye.

Clint smiles. The shooting range is the best part of being stuck here. While the facility does have a small gym, nothing is quite as satisfying as hitting his mark. The adrenaline rush just could not compare.

A few of the guards on duty cheer him on. In this moment, he can almost forget where he is. But when the hour is over, everything comes rushing back.

Over a month, Clint has been to the shooting range two to three times a week. He has not yet attempted an escape. He is still mapping out the route and sharpening his aim. Although he had maintained his upper body strength, it had been months since he had used a bow. At first, he had been sloppy, hitting the target, but not with the precision he needed to escape. Now, his aim is perfect.

With each day, he feels a little better. The guilt still weighs him down, but now he can see why it shouldn't. Sometimes, the cloak feels just a little lighter. He hasn't forgiven himself, but the guilt does not consume him anymore.

After his sessions, he is usually allowed to go to the shooting range. He can handle an hour with Hayes to earn an hour of limited freedom. But even then, his sessions don't seem has horrible as they used to. Maybe he's getting more comfortable talking about Loki, or maybe he's more comfortable with Hayes. Whatever it is, Clint can't help but feel glad.

He looses another arrow, grinning when it hits dead center.

Maybe, just maybe, he doesn't have to escape after all.


Hayes watches Barton on a tiny screen in the security booth. He never misses the target. Not even once. Not even a month ago, when he was somewhat rusty.

It must be all muscle memory, she muses.

The door opens and a tall, muscled guard enters.

"He's an amazing shot," she states.

"He is," the guard agrees, sitting next to her. "He'll make a great asset."

"He will," she assures. "He already trusts me. Yesterday, I got him to open up about his feelings toward Romanoff. She appears to be a weakness."

"If we can locate her, we could use that to our advantage."

"Capturing the Black Widow? I'd rather not waste our time. If she and Barton share a mutual affection, I have a feeling she'll show up on our doorstep eventually."

"But in the meantime, we need information," he reminds Hayes.

"I haven't forgotten," she replies. "He's being particularly difficult on the subject. Either he doesn't know or he doesn't want to talk."

"Whatever it is, you need to get to the bottom of it and fast."

"I will. I'm adjusting his prescription. He will be much more docile."

"Good."


The next day, Clint receives an extra pill. One is his anti-depressant, the other he doesn't recognize. The second pill is small, yellow and oval-shaped.

"I'm making an adjustment to your prescription," Hayes explains. "The new pill is to help you sleep."

While he has been feeling better, his nightmares still persist. Every night, he is forced to relive his time with Loki. Every single moment, every person he killed.

"There's anti-nightmare pills now?" Clint quips.

Hayes gives him a disapproving look. "It will relax you. Keep your mind calm, especially at night. It's SHIELD produced and is designed to work with your natural body chemistry. It takes time for the drug to be absorbed into your system. That's why you're taking it now and not just before bed."

Still, he is skeptical. If this drug is made in-house, is there any guarantee that it actually does what Hayes claims? What use would SHIELD have for a sleeping pill? Then again, he avoided taking the anti-depressants, but the pills ended up helping him. Maybe Hayes does have his best interests in mind.

"Take it, Clint," Hayes says softly. "It'll help you."

Even if he wanted to avoid taking the pill, it would be difficult to hide. Tucking it away in his throat presents a challenge while also swallowing the anti-depressant. And with the post-swallow inspection, that option is useless. He should take both pills now before the orderly forces them down his throat.

Clint places the pills on his tongue, takes a swig of water, and swallows.

Hayes gives an encouraging smile.

"Thank you," she says softly. "It will take a few days before you see any significant effects, but you should see some improvement tonight."

He nods, standing. The orderly leads him out of the room.

As he is lead back to his room, Clint feels the mysterious pill settle in his stomach. He finds it hard to believe that SHIELD would devote resources to create a sleeping pill. While there are plenty of agents who suffer from PTSD and nightmares, most of them recover just fine with conventional methods.

Also, he is sure that if the pill is commonly used in SHIELD, he would have heard about it by now. With that explanation out the window, the pill is either a well-kept secret or brand new. If it's new, he's a guinea pig. If it's a secret, he's a target. Both possibilities are unsettling. Why would SHIELD develop a sleeping pill and then test it on psychiatric patients without so much as a waiver form? And if it is a secret, why would SHIELD classify a sleeping pill unless it actually wasn't a sleeping pill?

Clint arrives at his room.

"Dinner is in an hour," the orderly reminded him.

Clint nods and goes to sit on his bed.

The question is: what is this pill actually for? And why would Hayes need to give it to him? Who is Hayes anyway?

As part of SHIELD regulation, all specialists are required to sit down with a therapist after every field mission. Clint was consistently assigned to Doctor Numen, a gruff old man. One of the things Clint appreciated about Numen was that he didn't coddle his patients. He was direct and to the point, and never used the condescending voice that Hayes so often employs.

When Clint was first assigned to Hayes, he had assumed that Numen had retired or died. Neither of those had occurred. The change in doctor came from high in the command structure, probably from Fury himself.

Why? Clint had no idea.

He didn't seem to know much anymore.